


Tit For Tat

by ladyoneill



Series: Lady O's Teen Wolf Bingo Stories [34]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex for Favors, Sexual Content, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They need a special dagger to kill the hell spawn thingie and Peter can get them the dagger yet he's not about to do it for free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tit For Tat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Trope Bingo prompt "indecent proposal" and of mildly dubious consent except that Stiles isn't too put out about sex with Peter. Sorry to skip most of the smut, but I'm trying to write as many bingo prompts as I can during basketball games (I'm a March Madness junkie.)

"So, what will you give me for it?"

Stiles' jaw drops and he knows he's gaping, but...really?

"Really?" he chokes out in shock, face turning beet red.

Because Peter's not talking about money.

Not with that leer on his smarmy face.

"Jesus fuck, Peter."

Peter snorts, crosses his arms over his chest and leans one shoulder nonchalantly against the open door of his apartment.

Stiles flails, huffs, and then stomps past him. The door closing sounds like a death knell.

"You're a dick."

"And you amuse me so very much," Peter replies as he follows Stiles into the living room, smirk firmly entrenched on his face.

"We need that dagger, Peter. It's the only thing that will stop the hell spawn thingie."

"It's a cambion."

Stiles gives him a flat look. "Whatever. You have the dagger. We need the dagger. You're Pack."

"Pack adjacent," he corrects, still smirking.

"What the fuck ever, Peter!"

Peter snorts out a laugh and settles into a comfortable chair, one leg crossed over the other, looking like a king with a supplicant on his knees before him.

And, Jesus, Stiles really doesn't need that image in his head. Heat blossoms in his cheeks and he swallows hard.

"Just what is going through that overactive mind of yours, Stiles?" Peter muses.

"Nothing," he stammers back, hands fidgeting at his sides, before he finally drops limply onto the couch. "Jesus, Peter, just give me the dagger, please."

"One, I don't actually have it in my possession." Stiles opens his mouth to protest but Peter makes a tutting noise and continues, "But, two, I can get a hold of it. It will cost me something precious I've owned for a very long time. I think that should gain me something equally precious from you, don't you ?"

"I'm a seventeen year old high school student with a twenty year old jeep that leaks oil, a laptop that's got a big crack in it thanks to that fight with the wood nymphs last month, and a wardrobe of ironic t-shirts and plaid."

The grin that Peter gives him makes him shiver in both fear and...well, lust, because he usually feels some nerve wracking combo of fear and lust around the sexy but sociopathic werewolf. "Oh, I think you have something else."

"Spell it out," Stiles yells in frustration.

"I. Want. To. Fuck. You. Clear enough?"

Stiles glares at him. "I don't trust you. How do I know you'll get the dagger?"

"My word of honor?"

That elicits a derisive snort from him and he shakes his head. "Nope. Get the dagger first."

Sighing heavily, Peter finally nods his head. "Kids, just not at all trusting these days."

"Yeah, I don't take candy from strangers either," Stiles snarks back.

"Come back tomorrow after school. We'll make the...trade, then."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah." Peter's eyes drop to Stiles' crotch which is showing just how much he doesn't hate the werewolf.

"Seething hatred," he mutters as he jumps to his feet and, as soon as his back's turned, presses the heel of his hand to the growing bulge behind his zipper.

Damn sexy pervy zombie werewolf...How is that his type?!

*****

The next day, Stiles drags it out as long as he can, but eventually he's to the point where there's no excuse for delaying that will sound valid, so he trudges his way up to Peter's apartment. The door opens before he can knock and the werewolf grins at him.

"I thought perhaps you'd chickened out."

Stiles glares at him and follows him into the apartment. They bypass the living room and head straight into the bedroom. It's a normal looking bedroom.

"What? No black satin sheets? Chains dangling from the bedposts? Mirrored ceiling?"

Amused, Peter grins, all teeth, and sweeps his arm towards the bed. Right in the middle is the dagger.

It's not at all impressive.

"That's it?" Stiles asks skeptically. "How do I know that's the real thing?"

"Really, Stiles, you have to trust me sometime."

"No I don't."

"I want the cambion dead, too."

"Then give me the dagger without any strings!"

"Not that much." Picking up the dagger, Peter twirls it between his fingers then sets it on the dresser before moving to fold down the bedspread.

It's navy and red paisley.

This is all just too surreal.

"I'm not a virgin," Stiles proclaims baldly. "You're not getting that."

All that elicits from Peter is a roll of his eyes. "Like I care about the two minutes you lasted between some teenage girl's legs. You've never been fucked. Your ass is all mine."

"It was longer than two minutes, ass hole." And your daughter, but Stiles isn't insane enough to admit that.

All he gets as a response is a derisive snort and a gesture. "Get naked." Peter's already tugging his top over his head.

Frowning, Stiles toes off his sneakers and starts to strip. He knows he's not scrawny anymore and he's seen enough dicks in the locker room and porn to know he's not below average, so he doesn't have body issues anymore. Quickly naked he climbs on the bed and glares at Peter, who just continues to look too fucking amused.

He's also cut from a fucking block of marble, lightly tanned all over, and the owner of a long, thick, and very erect cock.

Jesus.

"I hope you have a lot of lube."

Peter grins and joins him on the bed, straddling his hips and leaning over him. "I bought a new bottle just for you."

Stiles blushes, even more as Peter drags his eyes down and back up his body, which makes his cock stir. When the older man reaches over to the night stand for the lube, he swallows hard and hopes this doesn't hurt much.

The first slick finger doesn't. The second...a bit.

"Are you even going to kiss me?" Where the hell did that come from?

Apparently, it startles Peter, too, who stops with two fingers buried to their hilt in Stiles. "Do you want me to?"

Stiles was probably just being snarky to get past the embarrassment of another man's fingers in his ass, but... Turning his head slightly and licking his lips he mutters, "Yeah."

Using his other hand, his fingers gentle on his cheek, Peter turns his head back. There's something not snarky, not smarmy in his blue eyes, and Stiles swallows hard again, licks his lips again, and finds himself being softly kissed.

The night goes a lot differently than either expected.

*****

Curled bonelessly against Peter, sweat and other stuff drying on his heated skin, Stiles yawns and feels a kiss brush over his head. Peter's foot rubs along the inside of his ankle and his hand pets his back, and Stiles feels so damn good, more relaxed than he has in ages. He's sore and a bit shaky, but mostly that's from the most intense orgasm of his life.

If the clawed up sheets are anything to go by, Peter seemed to enjoy it, too.

And it went on for...Jesus, at some point the sun set. Legs still spasming, lower spine aching, Stiles isn't sure he can walk.

Yet...

"How long before you can get it up again?"

Peter makes an amused noise and tugs his head up for a hungry kiss. "I've created a monster."

"Teenager, asshole." But, Stiles smiles down at him, then slides tiredly down Peter's body until his cheek is on his thigh. Peter's dick twitches and the smile turns into a grin. Wrapping his fingers around it, he gives it a tight tug.

"Don't you have a cambion to kill?" Peter gasps out as his dick hardens.

"Eh, we're doing that tomorrow. I probably won't be able to walk, but Scott'll kill it. Or Derek, or some werewolf. I plan to just sit there and cheer them on, anyway. Your dick's pretty." He flicks a finger against the tip that's still slick with lube and cum then gives it a tentative lick that turns into a whole mouth suckle.

"Jesus," Peter yells, bucking his hips in surprise.

"I'm gonna blow you now. You make me food afterwards. Pasta. We're going to need the stamina." Shooting him a wicked grin, Stiles opens his mouth and drops it over the head of Peter's cock and takes him to the edge of his throat, then deeper. When he pops up, he finds the older man gaping at him. "Did I mention I have no gag reflex to speak of?"

He deep throats him again.

Peter comes a minute later.

*****

The next day Stiles sits on one hip on the hood of his jeep and lazily cheers as Scott stabs the cambion through the heart with the dagger. As the Pack takes care of the body and Scott cleans the knife and they chat about pizza and a movie to celebrate, Peter struts out of the shadows and leans back against the jeep next to Stiles.

"You going for pizza?"

"You got something better?"

"I have flatiron steak marinating. German potato salad in the fridge. And there's chocolate cake."

Protein is nearly as good as carbs, and they can always use the sugar rush.

"And what will I owe you?" Stiles asks, but his tired dick is already twitching in his jeans at memories of the night before and anticipation of what's coming.

"I'm feeding you, what do you think that's worth?" Peter leers at him.

Stiles leers back. "I'm sure I'll think of something in exchange for hot, juicy meat."

Laughing, Peter heads for the passenger seat. "Get in. The sooner we eat, the sooner we...eat."

Snorting in amusement and lust, Stiles joins him.

End


End file.
